first it comes on quiet, creeping slow
by xIrelandx
Summary: Phoenix and Clay cling to each other after Apollo is injured in a car accident. Phoenix/Clay. Possible smut in later chapters. Title is from "Masterpiece Theatre I" by Marianas Trench.
1. Chapter 1

It was just a routine drive out to meet with a client at the detention center. He did it all the time, and he'd never had a problem before. He wasn't Phoenix, after all; he could actually drive. And Apollo was a very, very safe driver.

But not everyone is. It didn't matter that Apollo was going the speed limit, that his lights were on, that he was staying almost perfectly in the center of his lane. The man in blue truck was speeding, swerving, his lights busted out several weeks ago. He was drunk, too, to add insult to injury. But the accident would have happened anyway.

There's a theory that your brain relaxes if you close your eyes right before the impact. It's possible Apollo would have given it a try, but he couldn't even see it coming. He didn't see the car until it was already mashing with his, metal crumbling in upon itself, pushing the front of the car back and ramming the steering wheel into Apollo's stomach. He shouts in shock at first, but it turns into a scream as the glass of the windshield shatters into his eyes.

Panicking, Apollo forgets the rules of driver's ed - the ones that say you shouldn't slam on your breaks when losing control. The tires squeal, the metal scraping against the pavement as - oh, god, the car is flipping. The car is flipping and the seat belt is cutting marks into the skin of Apollo's neck. His head is slammed on the ceiling of the car and he can't stop the noises leaving his mouth. He's hyperventilating and coughing and choking on the breath in his chest. The lights at the front of his car are smashed, the light fracturing and flashing on the trees as the car continues to slide - tips again, onto its head, slamming onto Apollo's side of the vehicle. His ear is bleeding. He thinks it might sliced, not off entirely but -

He can't feel his hand. He can't even move it, it's trapped under his body and he can't wiggle it out.

He tries to scream, but the words get caught in his throat. It feels like there's glass lodged in his lungs. For all he knows, there might be. But he has to keep trying, because he can't reach his phone and he'll die out here if he doesn't.

It's getting cold and Apollo wishes he'd just pass out, so the pain would be gone. Nothing's coming to him. He's still painfully awake.

* * *

><p>Phoenix is studying, waiting for Apollo to get back from his meeting so he can know the kid is safe and go to bed himself, when the call comes in. Trucy went to bed a long time ago, even though she was worried sick about Apollo. He was normally back from his meetings by now, but Phoenix assured her that it was probably just traffic. Apollo was a safe driver, what else could it possibly be holding him up?<p>

He frowns when the phone rings. Did Apollo run out of gas on the highway? There was no way for Phoenix to really get it to him. He'd have to wake up Detective Gumshoe, or something.

"Hey, Ap - Yes, this is Phoenix Wright. Who's this?" He listened as the person on the other end - a first responder, presumably - gave him the brief version of events. If he wanted to know any more, he'd have to find his way to the hospital. Phoenix was lucky in this respect; Gumshoe heard about the accident over the police radio, and it wasn't long before there was a knock at the door with the other man offering him a ride. Trucy poked her head out of her room, hair all amiss and eyes baggy. Phoenix had to work quickly to assure her things would be okay before Gumshoe accidentally let on more than he wanted her to know.

She wasn't convinced, but there wasn't much she could do. Gumshoe told her to stay put, and Phoenix managed to get them out the door before her pouts could work their magic on him.

It was odd, being in a car with Gumshoe again. It had been a long time since they'd seen each other face to face, let alone communicated in any other way. So there was that anxiety in his chest, resting just on top of the dread forming in the pit of his stomach about Apollo and his condition.

"I hate to tell you this, but he's in a pretty bad way, pal." Gumshoe's eyes were shifting between Phoenix and the road, trying to gauge his companion's reactions. "So you should probably, uh, prepare yourself." Phoenix nodded, but he didn't have anything to say by way of response. He could understand Gumshoe's point; he was just hoping Apollo wouldn't be in nearly as bad a condition as Phoenix was now imagining him to be. More than anything, he hoped they'd make it to the hospital before -

Phoenix shook his head at himself. He didn't even want to think the end of that sentence, lest he curse the situation and make the whole situation somehow worse. Gumshoe must have sensed his discomfort, as he reached over suddenly to turn on the radio.


	2. Chapter 2

It's weird, seeing Apollo in this state. He is bruised, bandaged covering his arms and part of his head. Even still, some blood is seeping through. But he looks...peaceful, aside from all of that. Like he's just fallen asleep - although all of the color has been drained from his skin. Dehydrated, maybe, but comatose? Phoenix thinks he might vomit from nerves.

He extends a finger to touch Apollo's hand, but it's like an out-of-body experience; he doesn't even realize he's doing it. Not until he touches the skin, cold like a tile floor. Phoenix has to cover his mouth. He was a defense attorney, once. He saw plenty of murders - came upon the dead body of his own mentor, in fact. He's not sure which situation is worse - he was able to get justice for Mia, but no one else saw the crash. The other car was, they presume, a truck that wouldn't have sustained nearly as much damage as Apollo's had done. The likelihood of finding the other driver was very, very small.

And there was absolutely nothing Phoenix could do to help.

"Ap -" he swallowed. "Apollo?" He had this inane idea, indulged by media, that Apollo could somehow still hear him. "Hey, Apollo." He keeps his voice soft, sliding his fingers down across Apollo's palm, holding his hand. "It's - It's Mr. Wright." Phoenix licks his lips, trying to think of something to say, but what was there? The doctors didn't even know if Apollo would ever wake up, and maybe that was the worst part.

"Hey." The voice came from the door. Phoenix turned, half expecting Klavier Gavin to be standing in front of him. It wasn't though - in fact, Phoenix had never seen this young man before. He had ruffled black hair and wore a black uniform - save for the blue jacket he had on. The stitching on the arm said GYAXA, but that didn't explain much. Phoenix didn't have Apollo's power of perception and Apollo wasn't around to introduce them, so the two stared at each other, awkwardly.

"You must be Phoenix Wright," the other man offered. He held his hand out to shake. Phoenix took it with the hand not already holding Apollo's limp one. "Apollo's told me so much about you." He honestly didn't even know what to say in response to that. He couldn't make a joke of it, but he honestly hoped that it wasn't only bad things he'd heard, and he didn't want to be rude in informing the man that he had no clue who he was. Apollo never mentioned friends outside of his odd friendship with Klavier, so Phoenix guessed he didn't really have any. He never mentioned family either - Phoenix knew Apollo wouldn't know any blood relatives, but he never mentioned foster parents either.

"Oh, forgive me," the other man said, blushing. "I'm Clay, Clay Terran." He had a nervous habit similar to Apollo's: eyes nearly closed, hand running through his hair. "Apollo and me are best friends." Phoenix raised his eyebrows. "I - I don't think he talks about me very much," he laughed. "He...could be like that, sometimes." Phoenix wants to ask what that even means, but he still can't find any words to express what he's thinking. "I'm listed as his next of kin," Clay says, shrugging off his jacket and sitting down on the other side of the hospital bed.

Phoenix licks his lips again and berates himself. This is getting awkward. Say something. "How is it you know who I am and you don't want to hit me?" he blurts.

To his surprise, Clay laughs. "Oh, uh - Apollo. Already. Uh, did. That." His eyes roam around the room, looking for something else to focus on.

"But it's my fault," Phoenix insists.

"Huh?"

He shifts uncomfortably. "It's my fault. That' he's... Like this." Clay doesn't say anything in response, simply staring at Phoenix in confusion. "It is. This is my fault. It has to be. I'm his boss, he got hurt doing something for work. This is my fault -"

"Even if it was, would it change things?"

Phoenix thought about it. "No. But I wish it could."


End file.
